


And the Mists Had All Solemnly Risen

by watsons_and_warlocks



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Character Death, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Minor Character Death, Sort Of, Temporary Character Death, ends happy - promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-02-28 07:31:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18751852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watsons_and_warlocks/pseuds/watsons_and_warlocks
Summary: After leaving a secret patrol in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, Merlin, Arthur, and the Knights are ambushed by a group of bandits and Merlin is killed. Arthur, devastated, slowly find out who Merlin really was, that death doesn't have to be final, and that love isn't to be deferred. Merlin/Arthur, with background Gwaine/Percival, Gwen/Lancelot. Super angsty and sad in the beginning, but with a happy ending. Graphic Violence in the first and second chapters sort of, read with caution.





	1. Fallen

There was mist everywhere. Not the light, ethereal mist that drifts in over the forest in the early morning like a comforting blanket, clinging to the leaves in tiny dew drops. This was a thick, choking mist, almost supernatural in its force. The kind that blinded horse and rider alike, rendering mountain and valley the same in the eye of the beholder. This was the kind of mist where anything could happen and did without provocation or warning. This was a dangerous, unpredictable mist, and Merlin didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t think it natural, the Druids had called this forest home, and the magical energy that still lingered through this land showed itself through subtle acts. He suddenly yearned for the hard, cold ground beneath his bedroll near the dying embers of the fire. He had done nothing but feel shivers run through him every few minutes, like his magic six sense was warning him. He looked ahead to Arthur, the reassuring mop of golden hair guiding them through the trees. He bit his lip and called ahead.

“Why are we travelling in this? Isn’t it dangerous? We could fall over a cliff or something…”

Arthur rolled his eyes at his manservant, even though he knew the boy wouldn’t see.

“Merlin. I have travelled this path to and from Camelot since I was 10 years old. I think I would remember a cliff in the middle, hmm?”

“But…what if we got lost? It is very thick mist…”

Arthur raised his eyes to the heavens, wishing he were closer, so he could slap the younger man upside the head.

“Merlin, I know where I’m going. We’re perfectly safe. All right?”

Merlin grumbled something about royal clotpoles, even though his focus was mainly on not running into overhead branches that may be lurking. Arthur somehow overheard the comment.

“You say something, Merlin?”

Merlin smiled wryly. “Yes, that you’re of course not a royal clotpole, and are extremely apt at navigation…sire.”

The reply was ripe with sarcasm, and the Knights noted with their usual good humour that if any of them had said it, they would have been knocked off their horse and glared at. But, as Merlin was…well, Merlin, Arthur merely smiled to himself and said “Shut up, Merlin,” with affectionate annoyance. Merlin obliged, and Arthur smiled smugly, ready to enjoy the silence. He didn’t enjoy it for long, as seconds later, at least twenty men came running out of the mist, wielding daggers, and pulling the knights from their horses. Merlin’s horse bucked him off in her effort to get away, and he landed unceremoniously on his butt. He would have been mad at Isolde, but she didn’t have a prophecy to fulfil in protecting a bandit prone King, and she was a horse. He got up to find the fighting already in full swing, his backside throbbing from colliding with the ground. He thought this damn mist might have some use, as he could probably get close to Arthur and protect him without the King seeing. Arthur was fighting two men, and as soon as he got the upper hand and landed a blow to one’s head, the other raised his sword. Merlin’s eyes flashed gold and the man flew back into a tree. Arthur turned around, frowning at his missing opponent. Merlin ran over to him, but his timing couldn’t have been worse. As soon as he got close, and yelled “Sire, are you, all right?”, another man emerged from the mist, nearly slashing the distracted Arthur across the face. Arthur ran the man through and yelled angrily at Merlin.

“Merlin, do something useful for once and get out of my way! You’re going to get me killed! Idiot!”

Arthur ran off towards the sounds of his knights engaged in battle shrouded by the thick mist. Merlin ignored the sting he felt at Arthur’s outburst. He shouldn’t have distracted him. Merlin decided to venture into the mist after Arthur but stay far enough back so that his “help” wouldn’t be noticed by the King or the knights. Although, as he tried to follow the sounds of the fighting, he noticed the bandits had lured them all off in different directions, and Merlin had the gnawing thought that they weren’t just a gang of ruffians. They were far too calculated; this couldn’t be a crime of opportunity. They were trying to isolate them, to isolate Arthur. He ventured several yards forward, feeling like a blind man, and found himself in a small clearing. Obviously, he had not followed Arthur as planned. The visibility was better, as the mist couldn’t cling tight to the trees. But he wasn’t near Arthur, and he wasn’t going to let the idiot wander around like a sitting duck. He was about to turn back when he spotted a stocky, brute-like man near a large oak tree. He was observing as if he could see the fight happening in minute detail through the mist. Merlin decided it would be better just to take care of him. The fact that he was observing meant he was waiting for an opportunity. And Merlin didn’t want to find out what opportunity that was.

     The man turned and caught Merlin’s golden stare as he was thrown back into the large oak. However, he was still conscious, much to Merlin’s confusion and dismay. Merlin cursed as the man pulled a dagger and stalked toward him. He threw one, which pinned Merlin’s tunic to the tree behind him. Merlin turned to get it out, but the man was already upon him. Merlin had no weapon of his own, and obviously slamming this man into things didn’t do much. Merlin knew this mist had been a bad idea, no one could see where he went. If he lived, he was going to tell Arthur he told him so, and he was never going out unless he was assured there was absolutely no bloody mist. Anywhere. Merlin felt his blood run cold as the man laughed, showing yellowed, decaying teeth. He grabbed Merlin by the shirt and pulled the dagger from the tree and held it against the boy’s throat. Merlin started to whisper a charm, but a dirty hand was pressed against his mouth.

“Black hair, blue eyes, big ears…it’s definitely you. The lady didn’t say you were magic, bet she’ll be surprised…but this is going to be fun…”

     Merlin’s eyebrow raised involuntarily at the comment, even though his heart was pounding in terror. The man had been looking for him. He had the fleeting realization that the bandits had been instructed to lure the knights and Arthur away from him, not lure him and the knights from Arthur. Merlin closed his eyes, waiting for the slice of the blade, but instead, he kicked Merlin’s legs out from under him, leaving him on his knees, the forest floor painful and cold under his skin. He briefly registered the utter terror coursing through his veins and a horrible thought settled in the back of his mind. I’m going to die. The brutish man sheathed his knife, instead choosing to land punch after punch to Merlin’s face, and after the fifth or six, Merlin could barely remember his own name, let alone how to fight back. The man viciously kicked him in the ribs several times, and the only thing Merlin could remember to do was to curl in on himself, a feeble attempt to protect his vital organs. He could feel from the burning pain as he gasped for breath that the blows had punctured his lung. The man continued to brutally kick whatever parts of Merlin were available, and Merlin felt his bones bruise and break as the man’s boots struck him over and over with vicious force. It seemed to go on for hours, each blow more painful than the last, and Merlin could do no more than pray for the pain to end. He whimpered pathetically and involuntarily, each blow ripping broken whimpers from him and spraying blood from his mouth to the forest floor. He could barely see out of his swollen eyes, but he gazed into the dense mist, hoping to catch a glance of Arthur. He just wanted one last sight of Arthur, and the King’s name was wrenched from his lips as the assault continued, begging for Arthur to save him. The man laughed.

“Arthur, eh? So informal. Do more than fold his clothes then? You’re a traitor to your own people, laying with a man who hates your kind.”

He got down on one knee, and whispered into Merlin’s ear, his rancid breath floating across Merlin’s face.

“You let him fuck you. You do, don’t you? Beg for it like a dog.”

The man gave Merlin’s ribs a particularly vicious punch, and Merlin heard another dreadful crack. He would have felt pathetic if not for the agony. Snot dripped from his broken nose, tears streamed down his blood-soaked face, and childlike whimpers of “Arthur” wrenched themselves from his throat over and over. The man grabbed Merlin’s face in his calloused hand.

“I can’t say I blame him for choosing you. The lady didn’t say you were so pretty. I almost considered taking you myself, but I’ve got better things to do. I’m almost sorry to have ruined this face… Do you think Arthur will miss such pretty fuck like you?”

Merlin couldn’t do more than spit blood into the man’s face, which only fed his rage. Merlin felt his head thrown violently to the ground below, and he savoured the brief relief as the man got back to his feet. Then a sound kick was placed to the back of his head, followed by several more to his back and arms. His attacker placed a final kick to his chin, which drove his head hard into a tree root. Merlin’s vision went blurry, and he thought he caught a glance of golden hair. He distantly remarked on the irony of his situation. He had always been so concerned about Arthur’s safety and was petrified that Arthur would be taken from him. But here he was, broken and dying, and Arthur would be the one to bury him. It was almost a relief, and he knew he would die for Arthur a hundred more times. He vaguely registered the man backing away, but any relief was lost to agony.

     The man considered his handiwork. The boy would be dead soon…he was sure of it. No one could survive as thorough a beating like that. Not even a sorcerer. He smiled to himself in satisfaction and knelt beside Merlin again. The boy was barely conscious, and he ran his thumb down Merlin’s bloody face, garnering a final broken whimper from him. He whispered cruelly,

“This is what you get for betraying your own. Magic can’t save you now, and neither can your King. But don’t worry, he’ll be joining you soon.”

He got up, and stalked off into the dense forest, proud to return to his mistress and tell her the good news. He was undaunted by the mist, but soon met the hilt of a sword against the back of his head and crumpled to the ground.


	2. A Painful Truth

Gwaine had dispatched the last bandit in his path and wandered apparently away from the rest of the group. He had met a retreating bandit and taken care of him for the time being before finding his way to a small clearing. He decided as he tromped through the thick foliage that when they were on their way again, he was going to let Merlin say, “I told you so” because he knew he would be dying to tell Arthur. As he ambled back toward the direction of the Knights’ voices, Gwaine spotted something through the clearing mist and felt his stomach drop as he recognized the mop of raven hair lying beside a tree.

“Merlin…”

He ran through the clearing to Merlin’s side, and nearly vomited at the sight before him. Merlin was curled up like a dying animal against the base of a tree, a bloody pile of broken bones, disfigured and beaten to a pulp.

“Merlin? No. No, please, no…”

He couldn’t be…he knelt and gently turned Merlin onto his back to find the younger man was still breathing, though each sound was a painful and gurgling wheeze, consisting of equal parts air and blood. He smoothed the blood-matted hair from Merlin’s forehead, and took shaky breaths, forcing himself to remain composed, though his heart pounded like a hammer against his ribs. He tried to will his thoughts into silence, but they screamed over and over, _it’s too late, you’re too late, he’s a dead man_. He stroked Merlin’s hair and tried to choke back tears.

“Merlin, who did this to you?”

It seemed an eternity that Gwaine sat beside his dying friend. There was nothing that could be done, and he felt so helpless, unable to bind a wound or carry him to safety and help. All he could do was sit there, hold Merlin’s hand, facing the inevitable moment when Merlin would no longer live, and the moment when Arthur would see him and fall to pieces. He heard a familiar voice calling to him from across the clearing, and he flinched at the sound, dread building further in his chest. Arthur appeared in view only moments later, and Gwaine gulped, unsure of how to even begin. How could he tell him that Merlin was dying, let alone that he had been beaten so badly he was hardly recognizable? Gwaine took one of Merlin’s pale hands in his own. He had lost friends in battle, but this was a whole new experience of utter devastation. Merlin was such an innocent, pure soul. To be beaten so savagely, and left to die alone like a wounded animal, it was one of the worst acts of cruelty Gwaine had ever seen. He looked up at Arthur’s approaching form. This would destroy him. Whatever love Gwaine had for Merlin, it paled in comparison to Arthur’s, and so would his sorrow.

“Gwaine, there you are! You found Merlin I see. Did the idiot faint?”

Arthur sounded in good humour, and it hurt that much more to crush him. Gwaine envied his ignorance, though he knew it would be fleeting. He turned toward the sound of Arthur’s voice but made no move to answer. Arthur’s smile slowly melted off his face, and he began to walk towards them both, hand on the hilt of his sword. Gwaine called to him.

“Arthur, don’t.”

Arthur frowned, his body suddenly cold with fear.

“What? Has he been injured?”

Gwaine just stared at him. Arthur continued to tromp closer, his heart rate increasing with every step. It was clear something was very, very wrong. Gwaine was never this silent. Not even in sleep. He broke into a run and collapsed to his knees beside his manservant, shedding his sword to the ground beside him. Gwaine looked at him, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. Arthur cast his eyes downward. He inspected his friend and felt nausea rise in his throat. Choking it down, he inspected his friend. Blood pooled under Merlin’s mop of raven hair, which was the only identifiable characteristic left of his beloved manservant. Merlin’s face was covered in blood, cuts, and black bruises from forehead to chin and Arthur could see the huge black bruises covering every inch of exposed skin, and what seemed like hundreds of lacerations leaked crimson and soaked through his blue tunic. The leaves around them were stained with blood, like a macabre rainfall. This was a beating, prolonged, intended to be as excruciating as possible. He gently turned Merlin’s face toward him, heart clenching as he gazed at the once goofy yet delicate face, now horribly disfigured with blood and bruises. The boy’s chest heaved shallowly, each breath wheezing painfully from his mouth.

“Merlin…”

His voice cracked, and he tried not to think about how Merlin would have laughed and made fun. There was no answer, so Arthur spoke louder, and patted Merlin’s bloody cheek. How he wished he could have caressed this cheek when it was smooth and pink.

“Merlin, come now, wake up, this is no time to be dramatic. You’re going to be fine. Just a couple bruises.”

Merlin obeyed slowly, though only one eye could open (albeit only partially), the other one feebly twitching behind a lid that congealed blood sealed closed. His good eye fixed on Arthur’s face, and he struggled to speak. At first, only a splutter of blood escaped, lazily streaking down his chin. Arthur felt a lump growing in his throat, and his brain struggled to produce enough denial for the facts before him. Merlin was dying and there was nothing anyone could do. The fact he wasn’t dead already was a miracle in and of itself. His thoughts raced over every possible cure, even daring to consider magical means. But Merlin was fading quickly, his eyes glazing over and breaths no more than gurgling blood-filled rasps. Arthur could see the desperation in Merlin’s eyes, struggling against the agony to say something, anything. He tried to reassure him, even as his own heart was shattering to pieces.

“You’ll be fine, Merlin. You’re the strongest person I know. Just, keep your eyes open for me…”

Merlin finally forced a broken word from his lips, barely gasping “Arthur…”

His hand briefly tightened around Arthur’s before going limp completely. His eye slid closed and all fell still. Arthur’s heart pounded frantically, and he patted Merlin’s cheek.

“Merlin…”

The sound of labouring lungs no longer filled the quiet air. Arthur shook his shoulders.

“Merlin, wake up!”

Gwaine spoke quietly.

“Arthur…”

He took Merlin’s face in both his hands, shaking violently.

“Merlin, wake up!”

Gwaine grabbed his arm. “Arthur, he’s dead!”

The words were forceful and desperate. Arthur stopped and looked at Gwaine, barely registering the tears that were dripping down his own face. Gwaine whispered gently, “he’s gone”. Arthur looked from Gwaine back to Merlin and he barely had time to collapse to the side before the contents of his stomach were emptied to the earth below. His palms dug painfully into the ground, and he hunched over, ragged breaths and dry heaving convulsing his body. After several moments, he wiped his mouth with his leather glove and spoke hollowly. 

“Leave me.”

He didn’t open his eyes until he heard Gwaine slowly rise and walk away. Only then did Arthur open his eyes, and turned his gaze back on Merlin’s bloodied features. He caressed his hair and spoke, so softly it was just carried away in the breeze.

“Please…I love you.”

He pressed an ear to his friend’s chest and was met with deafening silence. He dragged a thumb over Merlin’s lips. He wished he could have kissed him. Just once. Just to see the shock on Merlin’s face, and perhaps something else there too. But it was too late…He sat up, the horrible certainty settling in his chest. The worst part was the numbness, the calm that was descending upon him. He wanted to weep and wail and thrash about, but all he could bring himself to do was sit there, unmoving, unblinking beside his best friend. It was as if the clearing echoed back to him a sorrowful sob of _Merlin…_

Merlin’s face was not calm. Even in death, it seemed if he was in pain. Arthur thought of his last real words to Merlin… _Merlin, for once do something useful and get out of my way, you’re going to get me killed. Idiot!_ He felt guilt wash over him, and he gathered the younger man in his arms. Guilt was preferable to numb, but only by a thin margin. It was his fault. Merlin looked so young…he was so young. Too young. He had told him they were safe, promised to keep him safe. He failed him. In every way possible.


	3. Its End is Despair

Arthur heard a twig snap and saw one of the bandits staggering into the clearing, clearly disoriented. Arthur looked at Merlin, and back at the man. He placed Merlin gently back to the forest floor, and got up, Excalibur clenched in his fist. He felt it as soon as he saw him. There was a smear of blood on his face, and blood covered his boots. This was the bastard that killed Merlin. He approached the man, and grabbed him by the neck, forcing the man’s bleary eyes to investigate his own. He took the man’s dagger and placed it in his own belt.

“Did you kill him?”

Arthur didn’t even recognize his own voice. It was empty…filled with cold rage.

“Did I kill who?”

The man was still disoriented, Arthur assumed from a blow to the head. There was matted blood in his filthy hair. He dragged the man to where Merlin lay, more painful to look at than before. The man looked at Merlin a second and began to smile.

“Friend of yours, sire?”

He sneered the words with satisfaction. Arthur could feel the guilt and the numb give way to something else: rage. He could hear it in his voice, this pig had killed Merlin in cold blood. He had no reason for it, other than it pleased him. Arthur sheathed Excalibur, and took the dagger from his belt, holding it to the man’s neck.

“Did you kill him?”

The man didn’t answer, just snickered as he looked at Merlin’s broken body. He was proud of his work. Arthur could feel himself losing control. He pressed the flat of the dagger hard to the flesh. The man began to wheeze. The wheeze reminded him of Merlin’s failing lungs as he died. He pressed harder.

“Did you kill him?”

The man looked Arthur in the eyes, and even though he could barely breathe, he smiled, eyes of gleeful malice.

“I suppose I’d be mad too if I lost a good arse to fuck. He was a pretty one.”

The man emphasized “was” and laughed hoarsely, choking it off as Arthur pressed the flat of the blade harder into his throat, drawing a few drops of blood. Arthur leant in close, sneering.

“Did. You. Kill. Him.”

The man knew Arthur was going to kill him either way, so he smiled, sparing a quick glance down at Merlin. Arthur hissed, dragging the man away from Merlin’s body. He didn’t deserve to look at Merlin, to revel in his destruction.

“Did you kill him?”

The words were quiet, deadly. The man answered, his voice smug.

“Yes, sire. Pathetic, wasn’t even worth a quick fuck. He begged for you. ‘Arthur, Arthur’. While he could still breathe that is…”

He began to laugh, but it was short-lived. Arthur took the dagger and drove it into his heart with a broken yell. The man fell to his knees, and Arthur kicked him onto his back. Arthur kneeled as the man still laughed, blood trickling from his mouth.

“He whimpered and cried like a bitch…”

Arthur ripped the dagger from the man’s chest, and watched, not nearly satisfied as he wheezed out a last breath. He stood up, bloody dagger still clenched in his white-knuckled fist. He began to kick the corpse, over and over until he heard a firm but gentle voice behind him.

“Sire, please.”

He stopped, entire body shaking. He turned to find his knights assembled behind him. It was Leon who had spoken, eyes mournful but stern. Lancelot had knelt beside Merlin, tears streaking from his closed eyes. Arthur wanted to scream at him, tell him to get away from his Merlin. Gwaine stood back, eyes fixed on Merlin, the reality only just sinking in. Percival placed a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder, and the shaggy-haired knight unabashedly turned into Percival’s arms, met with a warm embrace. Elyan stood stoic, eyes fixed on Arthur, refusing, or perhaps unable to look at Merlin’s body. Arthur looked at them for several moments, panting heavily. Then he sank to his knees and drove Excalibur into the dirt before him. He wrapped his hands around the hilt and pressed his forehead to the cool metal. He felt that same numbness returning, and he didn’t fight it. After several minutes, Leon knelt beside him and spoke softly.

“Sire, we must return to Camelot. It isn’t safe here, and we need to bring him home. “

Arthur didn’t answer for several moments, but he slowly got up. Lancelot was already cradling Merlin in his arms, and they moved as a crude funeral procession back to where Elyan had gathered the horses. Arthur wanted Merlin to ride with him, but at the same time, he couldn’t bear it. To feel Merlin’s cold, lifeless form resting heavy against his chest. In the end, Merlin was placed on Lancelot’s horse lovingly, and they set off once more for Camelot, the levity of the morning like a distant memory. They rode in silence, a grave procession, and Arthur led the pack from the front in stony shock. 15 minutes. It had only taken 15 minutes to ruin Arthur’s life. And only 15 minutes to go from joking and witty banter to bloody and cold. He thought back to Merlin’s face before the bandits struck. Bright, big smile on his face, blue eyes shining brilliantly. Now he was dead. How had it all happened in 15 minutes? It didn’t seem possible. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that nothing had changed. He could even hear Merlin laughing at him, calling him a clotpole. He had so deluded himself that when he finally built up the courage to look back to Lancelot’s horse, the pain hit him that much harder as he saw Merlin laying limp and bloody against Lancelot’s chest. And his cowardice hit him even harder. He had had so many opportunities to tell Merlin how he felt. He wasted so much time…even the night before they left for patrol, he could have told Merlin. His mind drifted back to that night, desperate for any thought that wasn’t of Merlin’s limp body in Lancelot’s arms.

_“Ah, Merlin. All packed for patrol?”_

_Merlin grumbled and set down Arthur’s tray. There was extra food, and Merlin sat down to share the extra, as they had been doing for nearly a year now. He munched on a piece of bread and shrugged. “_

_I don’t think it’s a good idea, you going out there. It’s dangerous…why don’t we stay, and you send some soldiers?”_

_Arthur rolled his eyes._

_“_ _Merlin. I’ve been poisoned, stabbed, mauled, and enchanted, not to mention attacked by my own family, and a Dragon within Camelot. So, who’s to call Camelot safe?”_

_Merlin shrugged in reluctant agreement. Arthur smiled and sipped at his wine._

_“We’ll be fine. All right? You get like a mother hen sometimes…”_

_Merlin looked at Arthur, his eyes big and impossibly blue._

_“I worry about you. And your safety.”_

_Arthur gazed into Merlin’s eyes, unable to look away. The words were so sincere, and his eyes were warm and open. Arthur cleared his throat, forcing his eyes away from Merlin’s and back to his plate._

_“We’ll have to leave around daybreak Have you reminded Gwaine?”_

_Merlin smiled into his own goblet of wine._

_“No, but I asked Percival to. He’ll be more than happy to oblige.”_

_Arthur smiled._

_“I never pegged you as the matchmaking type, Merlin.”_

_Merlin smiled over the rim of his cup at Arthur, cheeky and flushed from the wine._

_“Well honestly, don’t you think it’s about time? They’re obnoxiously in love. They’re always together, and the way they look at each other…”_

_Arthur felt his cheeks heat up, and he broke eye contact with Merlin. It would be so easy to tell him. To take Merlin’s cup away from him, and kiss those pink lips, whisper into his ear, “I love you.” But instead, he got up, and watched as Merlin reluctantly set down his cup and did the same._

_“We both need to get some rest. It’s going to be a week or so patrols. We need to be on top of our game.”_

_Merlin nodded and gathered the remaining food back onto the tray. He paused._

_“Are you sure you’ll be safe? Morgana is out there somewhere…”_

_Arthur nodded, ducking his head._

_“Yes, she is. But she likes statements, not petty attacks. When she’s ready to strike, we’ll know.”_

_Merlin nodded and moved toward the door. Arthur’s tongue was itching to blurt out the words he had been longing to say for nearly three years. His mind screamed them: I love you, I love you, I love you. He had to say something. He opened his mouth._

_“Merlin…”_

_Merlin turned, eyes dangerously close to hopeful._

_“Yes?”_

_Arthur cleared his throat again._

 

_“Thank you…for your concern. You’re a good friend.” Merlin nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. Arthur thought and hoped that he saw Merlin’s eyes fall a little in disappointment._

_“Of course, Arthur.”_

_He stood there for a moment, locking eyes with his King. They were so close to the precipice. Just one push and they would fall and fall hard. But it had to be Arthur. He would have to choose to define his perception, his future, his reign. They both knew that…and Merlin stood there, eyes warm and inviting. It was clear he was waiting for an invitation, a statement, a declaration, anything. But Arthur couldn’t bring himself to overcome his own doubts and fears. So, instead of doing what he so desperately wanted, throwing Merlin onto his bed and ravaging him until they were both completely spent, he smiled opaquely._

_“Goodnight, then.”_

_Merlin nodded, accepting the terms. It was like a silent agreement. Not yet. “_

_Goodnight, Arthur.”_

Arthur wanted to throw himself off the nearest cliff when reality set in. He could have held Merlin, caressed him, told him he loved him. And perhaps then he wouldn’t have let Merlin out of his sight, wouldn’t have let him more than a few feet away. But even if the tragedy had still occurred, Merlin would have died knowing that Arthur loved him more than any single being on earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's super sad. I'm even bumming myself out. I promise it gets better. The tags speak the truth.


	4. The Secret Sits in the Middle

Arthur felt incomplete as he rode through the gate after Leon. Usually returning to Camelot would bring relief and a warm feeling of being home. But now all he felt was dread.  _Home_  had always meant in part, Merlin. Every return from patrol or hunting trip, when Merlin had been left behind, Arthur had known that as soon as he rode through that gate, he would see Merlin, waiting to welcome him home. And now that he knew he would never see Merlin again, everything in Camelot screamed Merlin. Every cobblestone he had walked, every window he had looked out, and every person became simply “Merlin’s friend”, Merlin’s acquaintance”, “Merlin’s patient”, all people Arthur would have to devastate. Gwen had already run down to greet them, and several of the servants were about, waiting to greet their King. Arthur dismounted slowly, and Gwen ran up to him.

“Arthur. I’m glad you’re back safe!”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, but when she drew back, her face fell as she took in the defeated look on Arthur’s face. She looked around at the knights, all looking bereaved and exhausted. Gwaine had refused to lift his head since they resumed their journey, and he was still slumped on his horse, avoiding all contact. Gwen’s face became rapidly anxious. She found her brother’s face, and then her eyes were searching for the two missing members of the party. Arthur wished more than anything the earth could swallow him up at that moment when she turned back to him.

“Where’s Lancelot?... and Merlin?”

Arthur swallowed heavily.

“At the back.”

She gave him a strange look and waited to see her husband ride through the gate. He came through slowly, and as he came to a halt, Gwen rushed to meet him. Her relief and excitement were short-lived as Lancelot dismounted and gingerly pulled Merlin’s limp and bloody form from the horse with Elyan’s help. Arthur couldn’t bear to look or go closer and flinched as he heard Gwen give an inevitable strangled sob. Elyan now held Merlin’s body as Lancelot took the sobbing Gwen into his arms, whispering soothing words into her ear, even as his own face showed nothing but pain. The servants and townspeople who had cheerfully gathered to welcome their sovereign now backed away, and he could see them deflate. Merlin was a fixture to the village. As much a valued member of the collective Camelot family as he was of Arthur’s household. As Arthur’s eyes scanned across those of the townspeople and servants, he felt a fresh stab of pain for each grieving face. Everyone, from the old tavernkeeper to the village children and the madam of the local brothel looked bereaved. He had failed not only Merlin, but each and every person who loved him. Arthur looked at Elyan and beckoned to him.

“Follow me. We need to bring him to Gaius.”

Every step toward Gaius’ door was agony. His heart thumped in his chest like a frightened rabbit’s. He couldn’t tell him. Not while maintaining his Kingly composure. He was announcing the death of the man he loved, and the boy who had been son to Gaius in everything but blood. He stopped in front of the door and hesitated. Then Arthur knocked on the door to the old man’s chambers regretfully.

“Come in.” the words were cheerful. Arthur would rather do anything else than this. He wished it had been him being carried back cold and limp, to be placed on Gaius’ table. He entered first, and Gaius smiled and bowed at him.

“Your majesty! I’m glad to see you’ve made it home safely, sire. Where is Merlin?”

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment and braced himself for the words he had to say.

“We were attacked in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. And Merlin…Merlin was injured.”

Gaius’s eyebrow raised, and he looked concerned.

“How badly?”

Arthur gestured outside, and Elyan entered a moment after, carrying Merlin in his arms. Gaius only let out a soft “Oh”, and yet it was so heartbroken, Arthur could hardly keep the tears from racing down his cheeks again. Merlin was laid gently on the table in front of Gaius, and the old man seemed to age a thousand years as he looked at his young charge. Arthur could see the horror in Gaius’ face as he considered the pain Merlin had endured, and the enormous effort it took to keep Gaius on his feet. He surveyed and analyzed, considered every possible solution. Arthur knew he would find none. Eventually, Gaius looked at him.

“How did this happen?”

“Merlin…encountered an outlaw, and the man beat him to death.”

They all paused, and Gaius looked at Merlin again, his face somehow growing more sorrowful. Arthur offered the meagrest of comforts.

“He did not die alone, Gwaine and I were beside him. I would have done anything to have prevented this.”

Gaius said nothing for several moments, walking around Merlin’s body, taking in what had become of his surrogate son. He closed his eyes and placed a hand on Merlin’s forehead, and then spoke, his voice already sounding aged and defeated.

“We must send word to his mother.”

Arthur felt another blade in his heart as he remembered Merlin’s mother. A kinder soul would be hard to come upon. Hunith had treated him as a person and shown him how parental affection could feel. He couldn’t tell her that her only son was dead. But he knew that it was his duty. He nodded slowly, and Gaius placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I trust you to find the right words, sire. In the meantime, I’m going to wash the body. We mustn’t let this be his final resting state.”

Arthur nodded and gave Merlin a final lingering glance before following Elyan from the room. Once back at his chambers, Arthur collapsed onto his bed, not bothering to take off his armour. That was Merlin’s job. And without Merlin, what was the point? He stared at the ceiling and waited for the tears to come, but they did not. He should be sobbing, weeping, writhing about in despair. Instead, he was stoic, heartless. He lay back and stared at the canopy above him, trying not to remember that it was Merlin who picked out the fabric. Arthur had called his bluff when Merlin said he could furnish Arthur’s room better than any royal prat, and these fabrics were the result. But now he wanted to tear them down and set them ablaze. He stood on his bed, and ripped the canopy from the bed frame, and then did the same to the curtains at the window. He collapsed onto the bed again, wrapped in yards of rich red fabric, unable and unwilling to do anything but lie still. He eventually fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed…

_They were riding through the mist again. Arthur was at his position in the front as before, and he heard Merlin’s voice call from the back._

_“Arthur, isn’t this dangerous?”_

_And instead of telling him off, Arthur pulled on the reins. He wasn’t going to let Merlin die. He got off his horse and marched over to Merlin’s. Merlin was just as before, beautiful and pale, somehow glowing even in the thick mist. He gave Merlin his hand and helped the boy down. Merlin gave him a confused look, and before he could speak, Arthur pressed his lips to Merlin’s, soft and insistent, tangling his fingers in soft raven locks. Merlin tentatively kissed back, and Arthur closed his eyes, savouring the feeling of Merlin in his arms._

_“I love you”._

_Merlin’s voice was full of joy._

_“I love you too.”_

_But then Gwaine’s voice floated through, “Arthur, don’t look”. It was sad and desperate. He couldn’t refrain. He opened his eyes, and Merlin lay on the ground before his feet, broken and covered in blood. He gasped out one word, he eyes fixed on Arthur's._

_“_ _Why?”_

_Arthur felt his heart pound, and he looked down at himself. He was filthy and his clothes rough and worn. And on his feet, a pair of leather boots, covered in blood. A cold laugh echoed in his head._

Arthur woke up screaming, tears streaming down his face. Within moments a hand was on his shoulder and a candle at his bedside. It was Gaius, his face stern, but his eyes full of sympathy. He kept his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, comforting him silently until his breathing returned to a semi-normal pace. Then he spoke softly, as if not to startle the King.

“Sire, I was already on my way to your chambers when I heard you screaming. It seems I was correct in thinking you may need a sleeping drought tonight.”

Arthur took a deep breath. “Thank you, Gaius. But, I’m fine.” Gaius frowned, that omniscient eyebrow-raising in doubt.

“Sire, Merlin’s death was not your fault. Whatever you may think. Letting yourself be tortured by nightmares isn’t going to help. Please, just take it tonight. For my sake.”

Arthur paused, thinking of an argument, but he had none. He reluctantly took the bottle Gaius had brought and downed the contents. It wasn’t like his normal droughts, it was sweeter, fruitier. He immediately felt a sort of calm wash over him. He frowned and requested Gaius quickly send George to aid in taking his armour off. The physician nodded and bowed, withdrawing without another word. As soon as George had finished his task, extremely efficiently and without nearly the amount of desired snark, Arthur sent him to bed, and collapsed into a second, thankfully dreamless sleep.

     Arthur woke up late the next morning. He just realized how exhausted he had been. He couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed for nearly an hour, even though the bright streaming sunlight told him it was afternoon. He had a suspicion that a world without Merlin it wasn’t worth going out into. But, moments later, he remembered he was the King. And there were things to be done, problems to be seen to. He couldn’t disappear and mourn. That’s not what Kings did. They stood strong and immovable in the face of adversity, a beacon of hope to their people in dark times. And these times were dark indeed, only made darker by the extinguishment of an incandescent man like Merlin. He dragged himself out of bed finally, and dressed, unable to bring himself to have anyone other than Merlin do it. He made his way toward Gaius’ chambers, and knocked tentatively, noticing that a guard was on watch close by. He opened the door to find the physician had gone. He still had patients to tend to, and herbs to gather. He too could not shirk his responsibilities due to grief. It simply wasn’t possible. Arthur entered the chamber hesitantly and stopped dead. He understood why the guard was there. Merlin still lay on the table. Arthur should have expected this. After all, what else could Gaius had done with him in one night? His body had been cleaned of the blood and dirt, and Gaius had dressed him in his best clothes and combed his hair over the worst of the injuries to his head. Merlin still looked frightful, but at least he was cleaned and respected. Arthur wanted to go over, to caress his cheek, ruffle the raven locks once more, but as he approached, roiling nausea came over him, and he had to run to the window, vomiting up what little was in his stomach.

     He dragged himself from the window and practically ran into Merlin’s room and shut the door behind him. Here he could pretend that Merlin was simply out for the day. At the tavern, or with Gaius picking herbs. He went through Merlin’s belongings, smelling his clothes, looking for traces of him anywhere. He sat down heavily against the wall and surrounded himself with the few things Merlin owned. All the years he lived in Camelot, and he still had so little. He had never needed material things to make an impact though. He was Merlin. Something caught Arthur’s eye, peeking out from beneath the scraggly blanket on Merlin’s bed. He reached under the bed, retrieving a book. It was a tome, really. Big and old, and the writing was archaic. He flipped through the pages, wondering what a servant like Merlin was doing with a book like this. The fact that a peasant boy from the country could read and write at all was impressive, but to be able to read this required certain skills…And then it hit him. This wasn’t an ordinary book. This was a book of magic. The writing, the symbols and pictures of ingredients and preparation steps. He had seen one once or twice when Uther used to bring the belongings of accused sorcerers to the great hall, where he would occasionally lean down, and tell Arthur,

“Look, son. Any man who carries a book such as this is your enemy and must be treated as such.”

Now he was seeing it in his best friend’s chamber. Arthur felt his hands shaking as he continued to flip through the book, finding certain pages more used and worn than others. This book was used and read frequently. By Merlin. He felt a little faint as he realized: Merlin was a sorcerer. The most shocking thing of all was the fact that he wasn’t actually shocked. As he said it over and over in his head, the more the pieces to a puzzle he hadn’t realized he’d been solving came together. Merlin was a sorcerer, and it had been the most logical explanation all along. Arthur just didn’t want to see it.


	5. The Only Truth That Sticks

Arthur flipped through the book slowly, trying to absorb the truth. Merlin was a sorcerer. He was a liar, an abomination in the eyes of the law. His father’s words rang in his head. _Magic is evil, at its core. Those who practice it may seem unthreatening, or kind. But leniency will only lead to ruin because if you do not strike first, you will fall._ But he knew of his father's lies now, his hypocrisy, and reconciling his father's philosophy with Merlin, was impossible. Merlin was a liar and a sorcerer, yes. But he was also the kindest, most loyal and compassionate man Arthur had ever met. A living contradiction. And thinking back over all the times that things seem to just go right for Arthur…like the time he woke up with Merlin beside him, and the dragon vanished, “fatally wounded”. He had a feeling now that he hadn’t killed it at all. Merlin surviving the poison, the dorocha, disappearing for hours and days at a time, even though the men said they’d rarely seen him in the tavern. He had a feeling that he owed Merlin so much more than he ever thought. And though he had been raised to see the evil in magic, it was clear that evil and Merlin weren’t compatible. He knew how he would have reacted if Merlin had still been alive. He would have felt betrayed and angry and hurt, he probably would have even tried to banish him from Camelot. But now it was merely a trifle. Merlin was dead, and Arthur couldn’t even entertain the thought of being angry at him now. Not when the longing to see his big blue eyes again and hear his laugh permeated every inch of him. And in the sobriety that grief bestowed, he also realized that he would have forgiven Merlin, because Merlin had a reason not to tell him, a reason to hide, and he had probably saved Arthur’s life countless times, without ever looking for thanks or acknowledgement.  And he realized he wouldn’t understand why Merlin did it, why he lied and hid it from Arthur, not completely. But he also knew he didn’t have to understand because nothing would make him love Merlin any less. 

He didn’t realize how long he had been seated there, rationalizing this news. He heard Gaius return to the chamber, and decided it was time to go. _The only way out is through_. He took the book in his hands and walked out into the main chamber. Gaius looked at him, and then looked at the book and turned a greyish colour. Arthur was frightened he might faint, he looked so shocked. Arthur put down the book and put a hand on Gaius’ shoulder. He guided the old man into a chair. 

"Sire, let me explain. Merlin, he was destined to be your protector. Anything he did, was done to protect you, to protect Camelot. He lied only to protect his life and you and others from the wrath of your father. Please, do not let this news make you think less of him."

Arthur put up a hand. 

“It's all right Gaius. I’m not angry. I would have been in other circumstances, but I can’t be, seeing as how Merlin is…well it just doesn’t seem important now. But I am going to take this book. I’d like to understand who Merlin really was.”

Gaius hesitated, like he was going to argue, but instead nodded. As Arthur took the book and headed for the door, Gaius spoke quietly.

“He was your most loyal and dedicated servant. Until the last.”

Arthur swallowed the lump that came to his throat and answered without turning back. “I know.”

     Arthur had to leave the book unfinished, as Leon came to escort him to a meeting. Life still went on. Even though it shouldn’t, it did. And Arthur had lords to appease and inform. So, he went, reluctantly, to his meetings. Agravaine greeted him as soon as he strode into the throne room and apologized insincerely before taking his seat. The rest of the lords looked at Arthur like he might snap any moment. But he didn’t. He answered the questions posed to him, he paid attention, he looked and heard but didn’t feel. They became less hesitant as they briefed him, and he reasonably discussed affairs of state. At the end, when he had adjourned for the day, he let out a deep sigh of relief. He hated having to act normal. Because to the Lords, he had lost a loyal servant. To any other lord, that would be regrettable, an act for which the Lord would give the servant a decent burial and perhaps send a few coins to the family. Not an act for which they were to enter an endless depression. Even those Lords who suspected Arthur was laying with Merlin would not have condoned it. Merlin, to them, was at the least a loyal servant, and at most a pleasing bedmate. To them, he was utterly replaceable on both counts. The idea that a man could love another man with the same degree of passion and fervour as he could a woman, was simply an impossibility, not even to be considered. It was an idea Arthur had willingly believed, until Merlin. In fact, before Merlin, he had been as a sheep. Doing what he was told, believing what was whispered in his ear, following blindly because he wanted to be a good son, a good knight, a good King. 

Almost as if to prove his realization, Leon came to Arthur’s side, ever discreet after Agravaine and the rest of the lords had left.

“Sire, I was thinking about those bandits. Well trained, they didn’t try and take anything, and the way that man went after Merlin – “, He looked remorseful when Arthur flinched, “I think that man was directed to kill him. Which makes me think that Morgana sent them. The rest of the bandits were to distract us, to get Merlin alone. I don’t know why she wanted Merlin dead in particular, but that seems the only logical explanation.”

Arthur nodded. It did make sense. Much more sense than a random vagrant taking such an instant dislike to Merlin that he felt he must beat him to death. He didn’t know why Morgana would want to kill Merlin. She never knew about his magic as far as he knew. But he never did fully understand her personality and motivations, even before she turned to dark magic.

He spoke low, so the guards who remained would not hear. “Who would have told her?”

Leon cleared his throat uncomfortably. “May I speak freely, sire?”

Arthur looked at Leon. “Leon, you are one of my oldest and trusted friends. You know that you may say anything you wish to me.”

Leon paused, as if choosing his words carefully.  “The route was secret. Only a few knights, Merlin, and yourself had knowledge of it. And of those, only three knights were not in attendance on the trip. Mordred, Galahad, and Lord Agravaine. Mordred was sick with fever when we left, Gaius confirmed it, and Galahad had just gotten married. So that only leaves…”

“Agravaine.”

Arthur let out a sharp breath. He should have known. Merlin suspected. Merlin and Agravaine had always hated each other. And it turns out Merlin had good reason to. There’s probably a good chance Merlin had gained knowledge of Agravaine’s true nature through magical means. He should have listened to Merlin. Maybe Arthur still was a sheep...He trusted his gut, he trusted Merlin, and he trusted Leon implicitly. Leon did not make accusations unless they were well founded. Arthur took in a deep breath, trying to ground himself.  

“Send him to my chambers. Then I want you to bring two of your best men and wait.”

Leon nodded and bowed, and Arthur tried to maintain his anger. If Leon was right, then Agravaine might as well have murdered Merlin himself. 


	6. The Eclipse is Not Endless Night

Agravaine arrived, simpering and bowing and scraping. And it had annoyed Arthur before. But now it nearly sickened him. It was so clear suddenly how fake he was, how insincere. He practically oozed deception. Merlin had been right to not trust him. Another thing Arthur hadn’t taken seriously. Another mistake he made while Merlin was alive. Now as he watched him, he understood how Merlin must have felt every day. Watching this snake in the palace, but unable to expose him, for fear of exposing himself. And having to face Arthur’s criticism for Merlin’s suspicious nature. Arthur straightened, putting on his most stern and royal expression. He wouldn’t let this stand. Not anymore.

Arthur tried to make idle chatter, make the man at ease, but he couldn’t hold this in. This monster had taken Merlin away from him. He tried to find a diplomatic way to start, but it seemed his heart took over. He yelled his accusation out of the blue, as Agravaine recounted some dull story or other about a visiting lord.

“You sent those bandits! You told Morgana our route through the Valley of the Fallen Kings, and I suspect you’ve helped her with far more than just that.”

Agravaine recovered quickly from the shock of the accusation and seemed to start to defend himself, but one look at his nephew’s face told him the charade was over. His eyes hardened, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yes. It was me. You, foolish boy, not to know. Even your idiot servant figured it out.”

“Don’t…talk about him.” Arthur’s voice was low and dangerous.

“Ah, yes. He was beaten to death, wasn’t he? I found it strange that the Lady Morgana so particularly wanted him dead. Nosy little beast, but he was at least keeping you from reproducing any more Pendragon brats.”

Arthur slammed his uncle against the wall. “Merlin was my manservant, and nothing more. Don’t you dare disgrace his memory.”

Agravaine laughed coldly. “Listen to yourself, nephew. He was a servant. By birth, his memory will be nothing more than a disgrace. You gave up a lowly in station, but an objectively beautiful woman and have not so much as looked at another since I came to this miserable court. Gods know that prying little worm _Merlin_ was in love with you. That was simple to see. And you were in love with him. Far more openly than you would have ever acknowledged. But it seems you were too stupid even to indulge your desire of a mere servant boy. You might have well had, your obsession with him was the worst kept secret in Camelot.”

Arthur glared into his uncle’s cold black eyes. How his uncle could be so different from his mother, he would never understand. Agravaine was Ygraine’s antithesis, yet he had clung to him as the only remaining tie to his mother.

“Why?”

“Because you are your father’s son, not my sister’s. You have the same coldness he had, I knew it from the moment I saw you. You killed her as much as he did. You are no more deserving of the crown than he was, and you are just as foolish and weak. But perhaps now that you lost your beloved Merlin, you can begin to know the pain I felt at losing my sister. I hope it tortures you for the rest of your life. May that be a short one, _sire_.”

Arthur dragged him to the door, relieving him of his sword. He thrust him out into the hallway, where Leon and two burly knights were waiting.

“Take him to the dungeon, and do not take your eyes off of him.”

The Knights rushed over, each grabbing one of Agravaine’s arms. The traitor laughed.

“Morgana will still win. I am merely a messenger. She will take her place on the throne, and I will see you dead.”

Agravaine was still raving as he was dragged down the corridor, and Arthur returned to his chambers and shut the door behind him. He went towards the windows, feeling as if the air in the room was too constricting. This castle was more like a prison than a palace. He was being betrayed right and left, and he didn’t know who to trust anymore. He had been utterly wrong about so much. He had assumed sorcery was traitorous, yet his closest friend and advisor was a sorcerer. And the Uncle he assumed was a close advisor, was the real traitor. But worst of all was Agravaine’s accusation. Merlin had been in love with him. And Arthur had known that deep down, but it had never been spoken out loud. And hearing made the loss all the more painful. The knowledge that he had needlessly denied them both. He had wasted every chance, every lingering touch, every meaningful glance. Because of rank and gender and other things that now seemed mere trifles. He had been a fool.

He went to his wardrobe to find more comfortable attire, as he had refused to be assigned a new manservant yet. The thought of waking up to any face other than Merlin’s caused him physical anguish. He opened the doors, and as if by providence, spotted a red neckerchief lying at the bottom. He picked it up gingerly, like a precious artefact, and gazed at it longingly. Pressing it to his face, he could still smell Merlin a little, and the burst of longing that shot through his chest nearly collapsed him to his knees. He felt a tear slide down his cheek, and then another and another. He buried his face in the red cloth and sank down against the stone wall. He almost felt relieved as he shook silently with the force of his grief.

Arthur woke up the next morning, still curled up against the wall, Merlin’s neckerchief still clutched firmly in his hands. His back ached and his head pounded, and his will to move or think or do anything but implode was absent. He spotted Merlin’s book, tucked in the side of his wardrobe where he had stashed it. He crawled over and grabbed it. He was going to discover more about the man who had been his guardian angel for years and wallow in his own grief.

He flipped through the pages, reading spells and rituals of the old religion.  As he read, Arthur found so many contradictions to his father’s way of thinking. He had always learned that magic was evil, used for bad. But as he read, so many of the spells were innocuous or used to heal, or used as defence. He began to see magic like a sword. A weapon, whose effectiveness was limited to the skill and will of the wielder. Magic was a tool, just as Excalibur was to him. And he knew that Merlin was as skilled with magic as Arthur was with Excalibur, but that did not amount to him being evil or dangerous. Only if the need arose, just as Arthur only wielded his sword in violence when he had to and practised only to prepare for that necessity. He continued to flip through the book, even though most of the language was hard to decipher. He relied on diagrams and the notes Merlin had put in himself. Arthur stopped when he came across a page that had a note in Merlin’s own hand and a familiar drawing of a withered castle surrounded by a lake. Merlin’s note said: _A life for a life, the Isle of the Blessed_.

Arthur shut the book and remembered what Ygraine had told him. She had traded her life for his. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, merely shifted. For the universe to remain in balance, there must be a trade. If he made the trade formally, offered a life, perhaps Merlin could be revived? And if he went to this Isle of the Blessed, it would work. Arthur got to his feet, a new sense of purpose overtaking him. Even if this was a fool’s errand, it was better than sitting around, stewing in his own self-hatred and guilt. He had to try.

Arthur stalked to Gaius’ chambers with Merlin’s book in hand, feeling oddly energized. He had hope. Merlin didn’t have to be dead. And as long as the chance that he could bring Merlin back was on the table, he would do whatever it took. Even if the book had said doing housekeeping for an enchanted goat with a pet dragon would revive Merlin, he would try it. Merlin deserved that at least. Arthur didn’t bother to knock, he didn’t have the time. He threw open the door and made a beeline for Gaius’ table, where the old man was sat down to breakfast. He slammed the book to the table and opened it to the page. He pointed at it, staring the startled man in the eye.

“Gaius, I know you know much of magic, even if you no longer have the gift yourself. You know this place.”

Gaius looked at the book, and then back at Arthur. His eyes were carefully guarded. “I don’t know what you mean, sire.”

He got up to clean his plate and turned his back to Arthur.

“Have you been sleeping, sire?”

Arthur growled in his throat. “Gaius, don’t try to distract me. There’s a way to bring Merlin back. And you need to tell me how to get there.”

“I’m sorry, sire. I can’t help you.”

Arthur unsheathed Excalibur and backed Gaius up until the old man’s back was to the wall.

“Gaius, I don’t want to hurt you. I know it exists. Where the dead can be brought back to life. The Isle of the Blessed. Tell me what it is.”

“Sire, I can’t…”

“Gaius…if you don’t tell me, I’ll find out another way.”

Gaius sighed. “The Isle of the Blessed, Sire. It’s real. The universe demands "a life for a life" for the universe to be in balance. But magic is not that simple.”

Arthur backed away from Gaius and thought for a moment.

“What if I already have the life?”

“What?”

“What if I bring a sacrifice? Will these… magical forces accept it?”

“I do not know, sire. Merlin tried to trade his life for yours when you were attacked by the questing beast, and it nearly cost my life and his mother’s. The universe rarely follows our own plans. It’s too dangerous and too unpredictable. And he would never forgive himself if you sacrificed yourself, or if any of his friends were hurt.”

Arthur took a deep breath.  “He won’t be able to say much once it’s already happened.”

Gaius took a deep breath. “Sire, if you do so, I will promise that as soon as Merlin regains consciousness, he will trade his own life back for yours. And he knows how to keep you from trading it back again.”

Arthur sighed. Gaius was right of course. He was still getting used to the idea of Merlin as an all-powerful sorcerer. But the additional knowledge that Merlin had tried to trade his life for Arthur’s made him all the more willing. But then suddenly came the perfect solution. A useless parasite sitting in his dungeons, responsible for Merlin’s death. Arthur turned to leave and turned back again.

“I’m sorry, Gaius. You always have been, and always will be one of my most loyal and kind subjects.”

Gaius looked at him warily. Arthur gave praise when it was due, but rarely out of the blue.

“Thank you sire.”

Arthur nodded, and headed for the training grounds. For this to work, he was going to need his men. In particular, he was going to need Gwaine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title inspired by a Victor Hugo quote


	7. Be Not One of Sheep, But the Lion Who Leads Them

When he got to the training grounds, he saw the knights sparring. They were doing so somewhat halfheartedly, the events of the past days distressing to all. As he searched for the familiar mop of black hair, still hoping to find two, he found the remaining unusually absent. He pulled Leon off to the side.

“Where’s Gwaine?”

Leon sighed. “He’s been in the tavern since we got back, drinking himself senseless. I didn’t want to bother you with it. He refuses to leave. I think the only person who could get him out would be Merlin himself. I was planning to go in with Percival and drag him out after we've finished training this morning.”

Arthur nodded. Gwaine and Merlin were thick as thieves, to the point to where it made Arthur jealous. Not that he ever would have admitted it to Merlin, Gwaine or anyone else. But Gwaine would be on board with his plan immediately, and he would help convince the others.

“That won’t be necessary Leon. I have a plan to get him out voluntarily.”

Arthur put a Pendragon red cloak on over his training clothes so he would look like a knight. He pulled the hood over his head and made his way through the village toward the tavern. As he opened the door, the familiar scent of ale and firewood washed over him. He had been to the tavern a few times. Mainly to drag Merlin back to the castle when he thought drinking with the knights instead serving him was acceptable. Although he mainly did it after Merlin had served him for the night, and when Arthur had gone to bother him in his chamber, he found out he was drinking. And the jealousy had driven him to drag a drunk and bewildered Merlin out of the tavern on some flimsy pretext. The more Arthur considered, the more he was surprised he went nearly three years without knowing he loved Merlin. And even more surprised that they had restrained themselves, even when Merlin was drunk, affectionate, and so damn…inviting.

He entered the tavern, closing the door behind him. It was warm and dark, the only light coming from the fire in the main room, and the candles that littered the tables. He found Gwaine slumped over a flagon of ale, hair dishevelled, and eyes red from tears, lack of sleep, and alcohol. Arthur asked the barkeeper for another ale and sat beside Gwaine silently. Gwaine turned to look at him, and spoke heavily, slurring his words.

“Listen, mate. I’m not in the mood for company.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move. Gwaine lifted his head and frowned.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said move.”

Arthur still said nothing. Gwaine got to his feet abruptly, swaying and nearly toppling over. The table squeaked against the floor, and Arthur had to steady the flagons of ale to keep them upright.

“I’m a knight of Camelot…I wouldn’t cause trouble, friend…”

Arthur lifted his hood and looked at Gwaine pointedly.

“Are you done?”

Gwaine looked confused for several moments until the information soaked into his booze-addled brain. Then he flopped unceremoniously back onto the bench and looked at Arthur through hooded eyes.

“Arthur, I’m sorry I haven’t been training. But I’m not coming back. I quit.”

Arthur almost laughed. “Gwaine, I’m not here to yell at you. I’m here to recruit you.”

Gwaine frowned again, almost comically. “Recruit me? For what?”

“A mission.”

Gwaine’s eyes went glassy, and he considered his ale sadly. “I don’t go on missions anymore. The last one I went on, my best friend got beaten to death.”

Arthur felt a sharp stab at his heart, but he grabbed Gwaine’s shoulder.

“What if I told you it was a mission to bring Merlin back? That I know how to revive him?”

Gwaine’s eyes widened, suddenly sobering. “Magic? But Arthur…”

“Merlin was a sorcerer. I’ve been reading through his books. There’s a place called the Isle of the Blessed. If we bring him there, with a sacrifice, we can trade their life for his, and he will live. At least, that’s the theory. But I’m willing to try anything to get him back.”

Gwaine’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Merlin? A sorcerer…I should have known the idiot was hiding something from me…but Arthur, you hate magic…”

Arthur shook his head. “I was blinded by my father’s hatred. Merlin was proof that magic can be good. I fear I may have treated him unkindly if I found this out when he was alive, but now I realize that I cannot waste time considering lies or betrayal when he lies dead in my castle. He was the best person I knew. And I will do whatever it takes to bring him back to us. Will you help me?”

Gwaine seemed to sober up completely. He smiled slowly.

“How long have you been in love with him?”

Arthur was taken aback by the blunt question. “What?”

Gwaine spoke quietly, so no one else would hear. “Arthur, you’re a good man, but a terrible liar. It’s been the worst kept secret in the kingdom for nearly a year now. But how long?”

Arthur sighed. “I think the moment I met him. But I only realized three years ago. After Guinevere left me for Lancelot. And I was a fool. A terrified fool.”

Gwaine put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “He loved you more than you know. And I will help you if you promise one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That when Merlin opens his eyes again, you don’t waste time. You tell him you love him, and hell, I don’t care if you bugger him in front of all of us.”

Arthur blushed, and he glared at Gwaine. “I promise that I will tell Merlin how I feel. The rest will surely not be a public event.”

Gwaine laughed and smacked Arthur on the back, looking more animated than he had in days. “When do we leave?”

For the first time in what felt like years, Arthur smiled. “As soon as you sober up and we convince the others.”

Convincing the others wasn’t that difficult, sobering Gwaine up actually proved more so. Lancelot as it turned out, already knew about Merlin’s magic. Arthur felt a twinge of jealousy at that but ignored it promptly. Percival did whatever Gwaine told him, he was so bloody enamoured of him. Elyan wanted more than anything to see his sister smile again and if magic could make it happen, he was on board. The only brief holdout was Leon. He had been his father’s knight before he was Arthur’s, and the hatred of magic was rooted deep. But, their equally deep bond of trust and loyalty won out in the end, not to mention that Merlin was so universally adored by Camelot’s peasants and knights that even the most magic-fearing one among them would have volunteered with some convincing.

With his knights all prepared to follow him, Arthur prepared to leave immediately. And when they went to Gaius to fetch Merlin’s body, Gaius didn’t fight. He knew Arthur well enough to know when he had his heart set on something, there was no use trying to stop him. He spoke softly to them, but with great authority and wisdom, as he always did.

“Please take caution. This is not an act to be executed lightly. And there is no guarantee you will be successful. But I knew from the moment you found out about Merlin's magic that you would try to revive him. I cast a charm to preserve his body the moment you left the first day. I will renew it, and as long as you make it to the Isle within three days, his body will remain as it was upon his death. “

Arthur realized what had been done when he looked closer. Merlin’s body had not decayed at all. He looked just as he had the moment he gasped out his last breath. Arthur felt a lump come to his throat, seeing Merlin like this again. He directed Gwaine and Percival to transport Merlin to the horses downstairs, and he directed Leon to go to the dungeons and procure Agravaine.

 

Merlin was placed gingerly on Lancelot’s horse again, and Arthur watched as Leon and Elyan dragged Agravaine from the castle, still looking smug, although somewhat more dishevelled. Arthur smiled pleasantly.

“Uncle. We’re going on a trip.”

Agravaine smiled coldly. “Wonderful. It will save me the travel time to meet Lady Morgana.”

Agravaine was given his own horse but surrounded completely by the knights. Arthur was fairly confident that if he put one toe out of line, that Gwaine would be more than happy to slow him down with a dagger or two. With that, they set off, Gaius and Gwen waving them off.  Arthur knew that Merlin was coming back alive one way or another, even if he didn’t.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by the last chapter's part about Arthur feeling like a sheep, and the Alexander the Great quote "I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.” Also, the quote for every title just kind of accidentally became a theme that started when I was looking for an inspiring title, and then that turned into spending a good ten minutes every chapter trying to find a quote that fits the chapter mood. I feel like I can't stop, cause it's a THING now. I hope this chapter is a little more upbeat. My apologies for the angst, I write fanfiction instead of working through my emotions in therapy. Thank you for all the comments, and kudos! Enjoy!


	8. Death Shall Have No Dominion

The journey was spectacularly uneventful. All the men kept an eye out for bandits and kept extra close eyes on Agravaine. At night, one knight kept watch over the camp, and one over Agravaine. He didn’t seem to send any signals or messages to Morgana, but if he had used magic, she may already know. They travelled quickly and quietly, always on alert. But there was never even an unusual rustling in the trees. But Arthur could feel it on the back of his neck, like a sixth sense. Something was coming.

When they finally reached the shores of the lake, Arthur felt like they were being followed. But there was nothing they could do but face the danger head-on. He had come this far. Nothing would make him turn back now. Arthur would fight a hundred legions if it meant bringing Merlin back. They all loaded on to a small boat that was resting on the shore, Arthur finally cradling Merlin’s body in his arms again. He watched as the looming towers of the ancient ruins came into view. The Isle of the Blessed. The mist was thick, just like it had been on the day Merlin died. Now an eternal bad omen. The day was cold and dark, but the stillness of the water and the mystical air around the Isle of the Blessed conveyed a sense of serenity, even though Arthur did not wish to feel it. He had learned over and again that rarely anything was as it seemed.  They landed at the shore, and filed off, Agravaine firmly escorted by Gwaine and Percival, and Merlin carried by Arthur.

They reached the clearing, where the remains of walls surrounded them, and a large stone altar rested in the middle, atop a small mound. Arthur carefully laid Merlin upon the altar and turned to his men. They looked at him expectantly. Arthur went forward and took Agravaine by the arm, leading him toward the altar.

He laughed when he understood Arthur’s intention.

“Arthur. You seriously expect me to believe you would kill me?”

Arthur looked at him, eyes cold. “Yes.”

Agravaine smiled back at him, unperturbed. “You aren’t man enough.”

Arthur grabbed his dagger from his belt and pressed it underneath Agravaine’s chin.

“Aren’t I?”

Agravaine laughed again, his throat bobbing against the blade.

“Go ahead, nephew.”

Arthur hesitated. Could he kill him? If he did, he wouldn’t be any better than Morgana…he was close to sheathing the dagger and throwing Agravaine to the ground in defeat when he heard a thud.

     He turned, and not much to his surprise, he found Morgana standing there. Her hair was wild and unkempt, her eyes dark and calculating. It was clear she lived in the forest, her dresses’ hem covered in mud and leaves were tangled in the fabric. Arthur once again mourned her departure from Camelot. She had been so beautiful, and bright, always the most polished and intelligent woman in the court. To see her reduced to living in the woods, plotting and stewing in her own bitterness, it was painful. Even after it all, she was still Arthur’s family. He glanced anxiously at his men. The Knights had all been knocked unconscious but seemed to be all right beside. She wouldn’t have killed them so quickly. She liked to "play with her food", as it were. She smiled coldly at him, and advanced. Arthur stood behind Agravaine, still holding the knife to his neck.

“Brother.”

He made sure his voice was measured, calm. “Morgana. How lovely to see you again.”

“Let’s not play games, brother.”

“Very well. I’ve come to revive Merlin. Whatever your motives for killing him, it will have failed.”

Morgana laughed. “Oh, foolish Arthur. It has succeeded far better than I planned.”

She paused and smiled at Merlin’s body, which still lay upon the stone altar.

“I dispatched a particularly skilled man to kill Merlin, told him to make it painful. I see he was a faithful servant.”

Arthur hissed. “Why? Why Merlin?”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Please, brother. Any fool could have seen how in love you were with the boy. Even before I left Camelot, I could see it. Pathetic. He was your greatest weakness. Your grief was only supposed to make you weak, vulnerable. But it’s brought you here, straight into my path. As I said, even better than I imagined.”

She moved closer. Arthur held the dagger to Agravaine’s neck.  “Stop there. I’ll kill him, I will.”

Morgana laughed. “Go ahead. He’s been nothing but a disappointment.”

Agravaine looked truly hurt. “My lady, I’ve done nothing but what you’ve asked of me! How can you throw me aside like this?”

She looked at him like he was a fleck of dirt on her dress. “Because you are nothing to me. A means to an end. If he doesn’t kill you, I’m sure I will at some point.”

Agravaine’s eyes grew cold, and before Arthur knew what was happening, Agravaine grabbed Excalibur from Arthur’s sheath and ran Morgana through. She let out a gasp, like she was surprised, and clutched at the sword’s hilt as blood spilt from around it, spreading down her dress. Neither she nor Arthur nor indeed Agravaine had expected this. Agravaine was a coward, but it was clear he had some sick obsession with Morgana and an even bigger obsession with ambition. Being cast aside was not in his ambition, and certainly not like this. Agravaine staggered back, shocked at what he had done. She fell to her knees and looked at Arthur, eyes still cold. She couldn’t speak, but he knew what she was thinking. Even while dying, her hatred ran deep.

She fell onto her side and let out a final exhale. Arthur pulled Excalibur from her body and cleaned it with the hem of his cloak, stomach turning a little. His greatest foe vanquished with a single blow, and not even of his own hand. He had never imagined it would be that simple. But passion is a great motivator. As it was, he trekked halfway across Albion to attempt to revive the man he loved. A single tear tracked down his cheek for the girl he had loved, not the woman he had hated. He closed her eyes, and whispered, “I forgive you.” He hoped she may find the peace she had never found on earth. He heard an exclamation and turned around to find Agravaine holding a dagger to Elyan’s throat. The knights had revived somewhat, but not enough to prevent Agravaine’s assault.

“Give me your sword.” Agravaine hissed into the man’s ear.

Elyan obeyed slowly, and all the knights watched warily, their own swords drawn. Agravaine threw Elyan away from him, unscathed. He held the sword and dagger in front of him, seemingly ready for a fight.

Arthur took a step forward, hands out in an appeasing gesture.

“Uncle do not be foolish. You cannot beat all of us.”

Agravaine looked at Arthur with semi-confusion. “I had no intention of doing so. I have killed the only woman I ever cared for, and I was nothing to her. And I have no intention of being executed in Camelot for treason. I die by my own terms, not yours.”

Then, without warning, he dropped the sword, and taking both hands on the hilt of the dagger, drove it into his chest. Arthur watched, horrified as Agravaine fell to the ground dead, having pierced his own heart. Arthur and his knights surrounded the man, and Elyan disgustedly removed his dagger from Agravaine’s body and retrieved his sword from the ground. Arthur felt faint with overwhelming relief. Two major threats destroyed by the other. It had been almost comically, ridiculously simple. He had just let their own ambition and twisted minds be their own downfall. Albion could have peace after all, and all because of Merlin. Gwaine was the first to speak, still trying to revive himself.

“Am I the only one who thinks that was way too easy?”

They all looked at each other, and then at Merlin, still lying on the altar. Two sacrifices must surely be enough to revive him. Arthur fetched the book from the bag he had brought along and found the page he had read before. He followed to the underlined lines Merlin had marked years before.

He recited the incantation from the book, and said calmly, “I offer one of these lives for Merlin’s.”

Nothing happened at first, and after a few moments, Arthur felt a knot of dread tying itself in his stomach. He had placed so much optimism and hope on this, if it didn’t work, he could very well fall to pieces. He turned away from Merlin and his knights, eyes stinging with tears. He had refused to consider the possibility that Merlin really was gone forever ever since he learned of the Isle of the Blessed. Just as he was about to break down, Gwaine’s voice startled him back to alertness.

“Arthur, look.”

Arthur turned around, and his eyes opened wide. They all watched mesmerized as Merlin began to glow a sort of golden colour. His skin began to heal, and the horrible cuts and bruises that littered his face began to disappear. Merlin’s face soon regained its soft porcelain glow, and his features rearranged themselves in their angular, attractive way. By the time one minute had passed, Merlin looked like the picture of health. Arthur was struck by how long he had resisted Merlin’s ethereal beauty. He was almost supernatural. Like a fallen angel. The glow faded from his skin, and Arthur’s breath caught as Merlin still did not breathe. The group waited, each with bated breath, afraid the trade had not been enough to bring him back. Finally, Merlin’s body spasmed, a strangled breath ripping through his chest. He gasped and fell back to the stone altar, panting. Arthur ran to him and felt tears sliding down his cheeks as bright, unbruised blue eyes gazed up at him, confused.

“Arthur?”

His voice was slightly rough from disuse, but Arthur nearly cried for joy. He placed a hand on Merlin’s cheek. An involuntary grin was practically ripping his face apart.

“You utter idiot. Can you sit up?”

Merlin did so, somewhat slowly, but it seemed his wounds truly had disappeared. Arthur pulled him into a crushing hug, which Merlin returned, still baffled.

“Arthur? What’s wrong? Did I miss something?”

Arthur didn’t speak, he couldn’t. He was close to openly sobbing.

Merlin looked around and recognized where he was. He felt his heart start pounding as he remembered. Pain, so much pain. The Valley of the Fallen Kings…blood, he could barely breathe, Gwaine crying, and then Arthur’s face before it all went black. He pulled himself out of Arthur’s embrace.

“I was dead. I’m supposed to be dead. Arthur, you can’t do this. One of you is going to die, I can’t be the reason for that. I’ll change it back. I have to…”

Arthur rolled his eyes and gestured to the ground, where Agravaine and Morgana’s bodies lay.  Merlin looked shocked, his hands trembling slightly. Arthur spoke again, trying to calm Merlin’s nerves. It must be truly shocking to wake up from being dead and to find your greatest enemies having unwittingly sacrificed themselves for your life.

“I was actually planning on killing him myself, but then Morgana showed up, and he killed her in a fit of rage and then killed himself. Lucky for you.”

Merlin let out a huff of laughter thick with disbelief.

“Lucky for me? How about lucky for Albion? Now Morgana’s dead, it’s over.”

Arthur smiled. “And you’re alive. I suppose we’re all having a good day.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know about this place?”

“Shall we say I found out about your little secret?”

Merlin’s eyes widened in horror, and Arthur put up a hand before Merlin could start begging for forgiveness.

“Merlin, I had time to think about this. I had time to think about all the things your magic had done for Camelot, for me. I concluded that I could never banish you or punish you.”

Merlin frowned slightly. “Really?”

“Yes, you idiot. Actually, I found a very fitting punishment.”

Merlin’s eyes widened a little.

“Yes?” his voice squeaked.

Arthur smiled smugly. “You’ll be wearing a ridiculous outfit as court sorcerer when I legalize magic.”

Merlin’s face broke out into a huge grin, and Arthur couldn’t help but smile back. He had so desperately missed Merlin’s gorgeous smile, his beautiful blue eyes, dark raven hair falling just the right way over his forehead. He had missed everything about Merlin. He felt an overwhelming desire to kiss the man, but they had time for that. Merlin had just been brought back from the dead. He remembered Gwaine’s condition, but he didn’t want to do this in front of his men. He gestured for Merlin to follow and was promptly attacked with hugs and pats on the back from all the knights. Gwaine captured Merlin in a bone-crushing hug and wouldn’t let go until Arthur ordered him to with a laugh. Happiness was coursing through him like his own blood, and as the sun began to peek through the dark clouds, he felt lighter than he had in years. Maybe lighter than he’d ever felt. And it was all thanks to Merlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am well aware that the whole defeat of Morgana was WAY too easy, but I figured that this story is mainly about Arthur figuring out his emotions for Merlin, and their love story and I know we all want to get to Merlin not being dead, so screw it. That's also why I made fun of it in the chapter. But, hey, wouldn't we all rather see Merlin alive, more than a long, drawn-out Morgana chapter? Also, I know there were two deaths, so let's assume that some lucky person somewhere else got their life back, or something like that, so it all evened out cosmically. AND, this chapter actually ends happily! Shocking, I know. Thanks for reading!


	9. No Notion of Loving By Halves

On the way back, they were, of course, attacked by bandits. Twenty or so grubby young vagrants poured out of the trees, and all Arthur saw was Merlin’s broken body, and his ears rang with his final whimper of “Arthur”. Arthur blacked out with rage, and when he came to himself, 17 or 18 of the men lay dead or wounded at his feet. Gwaine and Lancelot had taken care of the other two, but all his knights and a very startled Merlin were staring at him with wonder and concern. Arthur briefly felt guilt for the young men. They picked the worst time to come after a royal entourage. They couldn’t have known that Arthur was still raw from the last time, the haunting picture of Merlin’s bloody corpse still fresh in his mind, despite having him breathing and well, and beautiful again. Arthur took ragged breaths and looked at Merlin. His hair was ruffled from the wind, his blue eyes wide with fear and admiration, and Arthur heard Gwaine’s voice echo in his head. _Don’t waste time._ He dropped his sword and stalked over to Merlin. Without a word, he took the boy’s face in his hands and kissed him. The kiss was intense, filled with years of unrealized desire, and as such, could only last a few moments before Arthur had to come up for air. Merlin was looking at him, face red and utterly flabbergasted. Then, his face broke into a grin that could melt iron. 

Arthur looked around at his knights, who had all politely turned their heads, except for Gwaine, who was waggling his eyebrows obnoxiously and whispering “Finally” to Percival. Arthur cleared his throat, causing his men to turn their heads cautiously back to him.

“Men, why don’t you go water the horses. I hear a stream not far.”

They all nodded in assent, except for Gwaine, who had to get dragged away by Lancelot, wolf whistling as he went. Merlin, meanwhile, was still rooted to the spot, now absentmindedly brushing his fingertips across his soft pink lips, his skin flushed from the neck up. Arthur smiled fondly at the idiot.

“Merlin?”

Merlin was seemingly broken from his trance and brought his eyes to Arthur’s. Arthur couldn’t help himself and pressed his body to Merlin’s, his gloved hand cradling Merlin’s face. He kissed him once, chastely, and then pressed his forehead to Merlin’s.

“Do you love me?”

Merlin sighed and shook his head. Arthur felt his heart about to break when Merlin spoke.

“You call me the idiot. Arthur, I’ve loved you since the day I drank from the poisoned chalice and you saved me, against your father’s wishes. There’s been no one else, there never could be. So, asking me if I love you is a very stupid question. The real question is, do you love me?”

Arthur smiled and kissed Merlin again, pulling him as close as their clothing would allow them. He spoke intermittently as he traced Merlin’s face with his lips, eyes closed.

 “I’ve been in love with you for years. But I refused to admit it, refused to act on my feelings, because of rules and tradition and royal nonsense. We’ve walked this line for so long, refusing each other, and me refusing to accept my feelings. And I’m sorry it took you dying for me to realize I needed to act. I love you, Merlin, and I’m not afraid. Not anymore. I choose you, and I will never waver again.”

He opened his eyes, and Merlin was looking at him the way he had always dreamed someone would. Like he was the most precious thing in the world, and not because he was a King, but because he was Arthur. It felt like truly coming home for the first time, being loved unconditionally. He had never had this before…well, perhaps he had, and this was the first time he truly noticed. Merlin made the first move this time, and kissed Arthur softly, and wrapping his arms around him. Arthur tilted Merlin’s chin to get a better angle, and from there, it was ecstasy. Arthur lost himself in Merlin’s mouth, tasting every inch, wishing he could strip him down right there and taste every inch of his soft skin, make him fall apart with pleasure. He realized they must have been kissing for several minutes, and he pulled away, panting. Merlin rested his head on Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur whispered in his ear.

“We have to continue on, but my word is my oath. When we get back to Camelot, I’m going to strip you down and show you what you mean to me. I’m going to tease you apart until you’re nothing more than a writhing mess, and you’re begging me to take you. And then, just when you think you might burst, I’m going to take you, nice and slow, over and over, until we both forget our own names and you can’t walk properly for days.”

Arthur grinned as Merlin shivered, and his fingers curled into Arthur’s chainmail, gripping for dear life. Arthur gently pulled back.

“Soon…” he whispered seductively. Before he let go, he pressed a line of kisses from Merlin’s ear to his collarbone, before casually going to rejoin the knights. Merlin was left panting and breathless and absolutely wired with joy. He wandered back toward the others with a dazed grin plastered on his face and weak knees. Arthur loved him. He had known, for a long time now, but never in an absolute way. Only through looks, and hints, and unsung feelings, and hearing it spoken aloud by Arthur himself, was so much more powerful than simply knowing within oneself. Maybe dying hadn’t been the worst thing to ever happen to him…


	10. Those Who Cannot Change Their Minds Cannot Change Anything

Merlin stepped into Camelot, and he didn’t have time to even consider Arthur’s proposition for nearly a week. He spent most of the first day hugging and sleeping. Gwen hugged him, scolded him, hugged him, and cried with joy on and off for nearly six hours the first night. Everyone in the castle and the village was even happy to see him. The cook actually gave him a hug, and the Madame of the local brothel offered him a free roll in the hay with...her. The second day Gaius claimed he would never let Merlin out of his sight again, and Merlin spent the better part of eight hours having Gaius stand three feet behind him before he convinced him he wasn’t in immediate danger of being murdered. His third day back, Arthur signed a document, legalizing magic in Camelot, and Merlin was summoned to the throne room and given an obnoxious title, and a new bedchamber. Which just happened to be next to the King’s. After all, Merlin was one of his most valuable advisors now, although Merlin liked to think Arthur specifically requested the placement.

     Merlin had barely seen Arthur since he got back. They were allowed only fleeting glances and lingering looks. The most they had touched since that day in the forest was when Arthur made him Court Sorcerer. He had placed a velvet pendragon red cloak around Merlin’s shoulders, and as he closed the clasp, he let his fingers rest briefly on Merlin’s neck, and their eyes met, and it was like an oath. _Soon._

But next two days after that were endless celebrations, both for the legalization of magic and for the elimination of Morgana as a threat, and they couldn’t seem to find more than a few seconds alone. The kitchens ran nonstop to make banquets for Arthur’s court, and for the villagers and Druids, Arthur invited in. There were always revellers and well-wishers flooding the castle, keeping Merlin and Arthur apart unintentionally. They were spared only five minutes before the second night’s festivities when Arthur had new clothes delivered to Merlin’s chambers. Merlin put the clothes on, the ultra-soft fabric feeling foreign against his skin. The tunic was dark blue, so dark it was nearly black, and new trousers and shoes that were clearly expensive, but tasteful, so Merlin’s distaste for extravagance wouldn’t be offended. Merlin stood in the mirror, admiring himself. He didn’t look any different, but he did at the same time. More mature. Maybe being dead does that to you. Few people can tell the tale of being resurrected. He heard a knock at the door, and he opened it to find Arthur, dressed in his full royal regalia, crown and all, looking smug.

Arthur walked in and flopped himself into one of Merlin’s chairs. He looked Merlin up and down.

“I knew you would look good.”

Merlin blushed and looked down at his feet.

“Thank you, Arthur. They’re…they’re wonderful.”

Arthur got up and when Merlin raised his chin, suddenly Arthur was a lot closer than he had been. Merlin let out a breath, and let his forehead fall against Arthur’s. They didn’t speak, and after a few moments, Arthur’s hands came to rest on Merlin’s hips.

“Merlin…”

“Yes, sire…”

“I…”

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Arthur sighed before answering.

“Yes?”

They reluctantly parted as the door opened, and a guard was standing outside.

“I’m sorry sire. I didn’t know you were here. Merlin is needed to make his remarks.”

Arthur smiled at Merlin, affection clear in his eyes. “Well, well, look who’s taking over as the most beloved man in the kingdom.”

Merlin smiled cheekily. “Don’t worry. I’ve always been the most beloved. Nothing’s changed.”

Arthur smiled to himself and followed Merlin from the chamber, frustrated that they had yet again been separated.

The banquet was a huge success, as most banquets where drink and food are plentiful are. Merlin couldn’t believe it really. Everything was going so well, he expected something horrible to happen. But it didn’t. He waited for someone, anyone to show up and try to ruin things. But, no one did. And as he sat at the main table and overlooked his friends, he saw that they were enjoying being truly free for the first time in years. Like the earth being lifted from Atlas’s shoulders, the relief was tangible in the air. Elyan was dancing with a pretty village girl named Sarah with dark hair and blue eyes, and Merlin could see Elyan was utterly besotted. Lancelot and Guinevere were seated at the table with Arthur, the grudge having been long put behind them. Lancelot was kissing Guinevere’s hand and she was giggling like a child. Mordred, who Merlin had been deeply suspicious of, seemed genuinely happy, and when Merlin looked at him, he no longer felt his magic warning him. Mordred locked eyes with him, and just as he had done as a child, Mordred spoke a few words telepathically.

_The Old Religion is restored, and Camelot is at peace. We too are at peace, Emrys._

He smiled his enigmatic smile, and Merlin smiled back. Then Mordred turned back to a Druid girl named Kara and kissed her cheek. Even Leon was comfortably drunk and was contentedly listening to the minstrels. Merlin turned down the table to find Gwaine and Percival. Both were very drunk, and Merlin could see Percival’s hand had wandered and come to rest on Gwaine’s upper thigh. They were leaning together and laughing heartily, and as he watched Gwaine whispered to Percival and led him from the room. Merlin watched an utterly baffled and lovestruck Percival bound after Gwaine like a puppy, and just as he was leaving, Gwaine turned to Merlin and gave him a wink. Merlin laughed and shook his head. It had certainly taken Percival long enough, and he wished them well.

Merlin then considered his own situation and turned to look at Arthur. The King had dressed down after the initial ceremony, now wearing one of his more worn red tunics, no crown, his golden locks shining in the candlelight. Merlin felt a stab of longing go through him, and he remembered Arthur’s promise and their moment in his chamber. Somehow, tonight would be the night. He could feel it. He finished his wine, and as he stood, he made sure to catch Arthur’s eye before exiting.

He nearly went back to Gaius’ chambers out of habit. Then he remembered with a small smile. He had silk sheets and a big bed, his own fireplace and no longer the fear of being burned at the stake for existing. It was all a bit much to handle all at once. He continued down the corridor and heard moaning. He frowned and continued on carefully until his steps were interrupted by two bodies falling onto the floor in front of him. Percival was on his back, pants around his ankles, and Gwaine was straddling him, hair a mess and lips raw from kissing. He got up with a smile, leaving Percival to hastily pull his trousers back up. Merlin viewed it all with amused disapproval. He looked at Gwaine, who was grinning ear to ear, and obviously still drunk. 

“Gwaine, I am very happy that you and Percival have finally done something about the sexual tension, but you do have rooms, you know?”

Gwaine put an arm around Merlin’s shoulder.

“I know, we just got…excited. For such a shrinking violet, he certainly grows when called upon.”

Merlin choked back a laugh as poor Percival turned beet red and excused himself. He practically sprinted down the corridor toward his chambers. Gwaine waggled his eyebrows at Merlin.

“Why did you leave early? You and Arthur need some alone time too?”

Merlin felt his own skin get hot. “Shut up, Gwaine. We haven’t even…”

Gwaine’s mouth dropped. “Merlin! You mean you two haven’t – and you have the nerve to talk about Percival and me having sexual tension. You and Arthur have so much sexual tension you could package it and sell it as an aphrodisiac.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Gwaine, go find Percival and apologize for being an idiot. He may be in love with you, but you’re horrible when you’re drunk.”

Gwaine smiled again and slapped Merlin on the shoulder before running off.  Merlin smiled fondly and thought of Arthur again. As he passed his door, he stopped. His limbs were tingling. He could only hope Arthur had understood his meaning and would come to his room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter after this! Yay! In case you care, the title is a George Bernard Shaw quote. Thanks for reading!


	11. Immortal in My Love For You

Merlin was warming his hands by the fire, trying to soothe his nerves. He was more than ready for this, but at the same time, this was _Arthur_. He was experienced, and charming, and _perfect._  Merlin was the opposite: inexperienced, awkward, and clumsy. He had fumbled around with Will back in Ealdor, they had gone as far as trying to have sex before he left for Camelot, but Merlin wasn’t relaxed enough, and they were nearly caught by his neighbour Mary when she stumbled home from the tavern. Then he had kissed a few men and women since he came to Camelot, he had Freya, but they never went beyond a kiss, and his most recent experience was about three years ago when he thought Arthur and Gwen were going to get married.  He had taken a visiting Knight up on his offers, and they had desperately rutted against each other in a dark alcove, and Merlin had very nearly whispered Arthur’s name as he came. Since then, he had subsisted on the whisper of a promise from Arthur, and he felt close to bursting with desire. Merlin was shaken from his thoughts, by a knock at the door. He tried not to let his heart get carried away as he answered. He took measured steps to the door, taking deep breaths.

When he opened it, Arthur was leaning against the stone arch, arms folded, hair glowing with the backlight from the torches outside, and an unbearable smug look on his face. Merlin almost wanted to slap him for being so goddamn gorgeous, and for being a smug prat. It really wasn’t fair. He only realized he had been standing there ogling Arthur for too long when Arthur smiled, straight white teeth gleaming.

“Going to invite me in, Merlin, or are you training to be a statue?”

Merlin nodded and stepped back to let Arthur in. Arthur rolled his eyes fondly and walked into Merlin’s chambers. He looked around and then turned back to look at Merlin.

“This is a lot bigger than your old room. I barely got a look before. How does it feel?”

Merlin looked around himself, taking in the amount of space he had.  “I still can’t quite get used to it. I got kind of used to catering to arrogant prats.”

“Well, maybe I can make you sleep in the stables once in a while, so you don’t forget your roots…”

Merlin smiled. “Oh, how thoughtful. “

Arthur began pacing. “And maybe you could do some manservant things occasionally. Keep your skills sharp.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Is George not living up to your standards?”

Arthur laughed. “No, George is quite literally the perfect manservant. Much better than the last idiot I had.”

Merlin took a few steps forward and gave a fake offended glare.  “I heard your last manservant was perfection itself.”

Arthur took a few steps forward and crossed his arms. “Oh yes? And who told you that?”

Merlin took another step forward. “Some total clotpole…what was his name…Oh yes, Arthur.”

Arthur took another step forward so that the two were merely inches apart. Merlin could feel the electricity buzzing between them.

“What kind of idiot would believe that I’d say something nice about you?”

Merlin laughed softly and had to keep himself from melting under Arthur’s smouldering gaze. He swallowed, hard.

“So, what’s wrong with George?”

Arthur huffed a breath through his nose. “Well, I woke up this morning with breakfast ready, George had already laid out my clothes, and my armour was shined to perfection.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “So, what’s the problem then?”

“I was expecting a surly, ill-mannered, backtalking idiot.”

Merlin smiled wryly. “Is that all?”

Arthur leaned in, and placed a hand on Merlin’s neck, rubbing small circles at his collarbone. “Well, he did have nice eyes, and a perfect ass.”

Merlin blushed. Arthur pressed his forehead to Merlin’s. “I’ve missed you the past few days. I almost ordered George to dig a tunnel from my room to yours. He would have, too. And that guard earlier this evening…he has no idea how close he came to being tossed out a window.”

Merlin let out a huff of laughter, the warm air tickling Arthur’s neck.

“I’ve missed you too. I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how…I mean, the things you said…and I…we…I just don’t…”

Thankfully, Arthur ducked his head and shut Merlin up with a kiss. Merlin let his hands slide around Arthur’s waist, and he returned the kiss softly. Arthur pulled back and smiled.

“You talk too much.”

Merlin’s eyes were dark with lust, and most of the butterflies in his stomach had dissipated because Arthur was just Arthur. Familiar, and warm, and alluring as all hell. “Make me stop them…”

Arthur captured his lips again, and suddenly it was as if every pent-up emotion was released from its dam. They kissed fervently, hands and tongues exploring every available inch, and their bodies pressed together like magnets. Merlin audibly growled when there was a sharp knock at the door. The two flew apart, and Merlin cleared his throat.

“Come in…”

Gwaine opened the door and stood there, looking very content, like a cat, and Percival stood behind him, looking well and thoroughly debauched. Gwaine smiled evilly.

 “Hope we’re not…interrupting.”

Merlin glared at him. “No…what is it, Gwaine?”

Gwaine put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, just wanted to see if you two lovebirds wanted to come down to the tavern for a few drinks. Percival and I are…very parched.”

Merlin smirked. “I’m sure you are…”

Merlin and Arthur looked at each other, and it was decided instantly. Arthur stepped forward and smiled serenely.

“Thank you, Gwaine, but no. Merlin and I have some…details to discuss. Matter of security. You understand.”

Gwaine laughed. “Of course, my lord. Just don’t discuss the castle to the ground.”

Merlin turned beet red, and Arthur smiled, his eyes fixed on Merlin. “Goodbye, Gwaine, Percival. Why don’t you tell the men they don’t have to report to training until 11 tomorrow? Celebration and all.”

Gwaine looked between the two of them and smiled again.

“Of course, sire.” He winked at Merlin and dragged Percival away.

As Arthur closed the door, Merlin thought his face would light on fire from how hot his cheeks were. Arthur took a brief moment from to staring at Merlin to frown at the door.

“Did Gwaine and Percival finally…”

Merlin blushed harder if possible, a nervous laugh bubbling from his throat.

“Yes. Most definitely.”

Arthur smiled, and returned to gazing at Merlin, his eyes predatory.

“Well then, I think we should follow their example.”

Arthur approached him slowly, deliberately. He backed Merlin up against the far wall, and brushed his thumb from Merlin’s temple, tracing his jawline, and eventually ending by pressing it down onto his lower lip. Merlin’s eyes were closed, but his breath caught as Arthur touched his lips. They parted instinctively, and Arthur leaned in to kiss them, but he stopped himself. He wanted to make Merlin shiver with unbridled lust and desire. He told Merlin to raise his arms, and gingerly removed the tunic from his pale flesh. Arthur groaned with pleasure at the sight of Merlin’s lithe, toned torso, so perfect and soft. He started at Merlin’s navel, and slowly kissed a trail up his chest, his hands planted firmly on Merlin’s hips. He took one of Merlin’s nipples in his mouth and licked and sucked until it hardened under his attention. He did the same to the other, and then continued upward, and nipped lightly at Merlin’s neck, sucking until he was confident he left a bruise. Arthur wanted to mark him, show that Merlin was here, was real, was his. Merlin’s eyes were clamped shut, and he was panting like a dog in heat at every attention Arthur lavished on him. Arthur finally reached a hand inside of Merlin’s trousers as he kissed his neck, and Merlin’s panting grew to a keening whine as Arthur stroked him once. He slowly pushed Merlin’s trousers to the ground and knelt in front of him. He licked a stripe up Merlin’s leaking cock, garnering a whimper. He swirled his tongue around Merlin’s tip, gathering the pre-cum before taking Merlin into his mouth. He was much bigger than he anticipated, but then again, Merlin never failed to surprise him. He could feel Merlin trembling, trying not to buck into his mouth. Merlin pushed him back, eyes wild with desire.

“Arthur, stop.”

Arthur got to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

Merlin was gorgeous, a blush high on his cheeks, raven hair mussed about his face, and his eyes bright and passionate.  “I need you inside of me. Right now.”

Arthur felt his cock harden almost painfully at the words, and he kissed Merlin deeply.

“Are you sure? I mean, have you ever…”

Merlin grabbed Arthur through his trousers, and the King yelped involuntarily. Merlin leaned in his voice a lustful whisper.

“All I know is that you promised to show me what I meant to you. And I like a King who keeps his promises. If I don’t feel you inside me soon, I’m just going to have to take care of myself…”

Arthur groaned and kissed Merlin again, biting at his lower lip possessively. Merlin reached down to take himself in hand, and Arthur grabbed his wrist, lightly sucking at the skin.

“Go lay on the bed.”

Merlin nodded and obeyed as Arthur searched for what he required. He found it in his wardrobe, buried beneath some clothing. He took the bottle and poured some of its contents onto his hands. He lathered his hands in the oil, warming it up before approaching the bed. Merlin was lying on his stomach, face turned to watch Arthur. Arthur kneeled on the bed behind Merlin, and gently spread his legs apart. Merlin obeyed readily, and he let out a low whine as Arthur pressed his index finger in up to the knuckle. After a moment, he added another finger, and began to slowly thrust and scissor them. Merlin seemed uncomfortable at first, but was soon moaning, and bucking his hips, trying to force Arthur’s fingers deeper. Arthur added a third finger and pressed further until he found his mark. He thrust his fingers against the spot, and Merlin let out a sharp moan.

“Arthur….”

The word was like a prayer, or a plea.

“Yes, Merlin?”

“I’ve never felt anything like that before…”

Arthur smirked. “This is just the beginning darling.”

He continued to thrust his fingers against that spot until Merlin’s hand snapped around and grabbed Arthur’s arm.

“Arthur, please, take me. I can’t hold on much longer…”

Arthur smiled. He loved Merlin like this. Completely trusting, vulnerable. Bearing all his body and soul to Arthur. He was beautiful. Arthur rose from the bed, and hastily undressed. His cock was throbbing with desire, and he quickly slicked his length with oil before climbing back onto the bed. He looked at Merlin’s pale back and spoke quietly.

“Merlin, roll onto your back…”

“I thought we were…”

“We are, love, but just turn onto your back.”

Merlin obeyed, and there was confusion in his eyes. Arthur kissed him softly and caressed his cheek.

“I want to see you. I almost lost you forever. I need to see you, to know you’re real. Know that you’re mine. That this isn’t just a dream.”

Merlin blushed and smiled.

“I’m here, Arthur. I’m never going anywhere ever again.”

Arthur lifted Merlin’s legs until the angle was better, and he pressed the head of his cock to Merlin’s entrance.

“Are you sure?”

Merlin caressed Arthur’ cheek.

“I’ve never been surer about anything.”

Arthur nodded and pressed forward slowly. As Merlin’s tight heat engulfed him, he wanted nothing more than to quickly sink into his hilt, but he waited. He wanted Merlin to be comfortable.

“Are you all right?”

Merlin adjusted a little and nodded. Arthur pressed deeper until his balls drew tight up against Merlin’s skin. They stayed still for a few moments, savouring the feeling of being truly together, both trembling with need. Then, slowly, Arthur drew himself almost all the way out and then thrust forward. He moaned sharply, and Merlin let out a low keening moan. Arthur repeated the motion, and started a slow steady rhythm, trying not to build up too much pleasure at once. Merlin’s fingers dug into his back, and he whined as Arthur thrust into his prostate over and over.

“Faster, Arthur.”

“Merlin, I won’t be able to last long…”

Merlin was already covered in a sheen of sweat. “I’m already so close…please.”

Arthur obeyed, and began a quicker pace, his thrusts shorter and sharper. Merlin moaned in time with them, and Arthur felt heat pooling in his stomach. He wouldn’t last more than a couple minutes. He wrapped a hand around Merlin’s cock and began stroking in time with his thrusts. Merlin couldn’t even moan for pleasure, he just let his mouth hang slack, his eyes closed. Arthur wished they could go on like this for hours, but he was already close.

“Merlin, come for me.”

He quickened his strokes, and Merlin’s eyes flew open. He bucked his hips up, and wrapped his legs around Arthur’s waist, trying to draw him deeper. His eyes gazed into Arthur’s, and Arthur had never felt so intimately connected to anyone until that moment.

“Arthur, I’m going to…I’m so close.”

“Yes, come for me…”

A few sharp strokes later, Merlin was coming. His release coated his stomach, and he moaned and gasped Arthur’s name like a mantra, fingers clutching at Arthur’s arms like he was falling and only Arthur kept him aloft. His eyes flashed gold and flames licked the top of the fireplace behind them while the curtains flared out, moved by some magical breeze. As Merlin clenched around him, Arthur thrust only two or three times more and came harder than he ever had in his life, Merlin’s name wrenching itself from his lips in a strangled moan. He saw stars explode behind his eyes, and he promised anything and everything to Merlin, praise spilling endlessly from his lips.

When they were both down from their highs, Arthur pulled out gently and lay down beside Merlin. He cleaned them both off with his shirt, which was then quickly forgotten by the bed. Merlin quickly snuggled to his chest, and Arthur began absentmindedly stroking his hair, sleep tugging at his eyelids.

“Arthur…”

“Yes, Merlin?”

“I love you.”

Arthur smiled, the content in his voice abundantly clear.

“I love you too, idiot….”

A comfortable silence settled over them, and Arthur spoke once more, trying to avoid the irresistible pull of sleep.

“Merlin?”

“Yes?”

Arthur kissed the top of his hair. “If you ever try and die on me again, I’ll kill you.”

Merlin smiled and kissed Arthur’s chest. “Sounds perfectly reasonable.”

They both laughed softly, both knowing Arthur had finally made his choice, and it was Merlin. It had always been and would always be Merlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Finally! I hope you enjoyed reading it. Please let me know if you'd like to see a sequel. As we all know, these boys can't go long without some type of disaster or conflict. Thank you so much for reading, and for the comments and kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by a Charles Dickens quote. I own none of these characters, and this work is purely for entertainment purposes.


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